


Blue Satin Sashes

by lxghtwoodlxve



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Danny Rand Is A Little Shit, Favourite Weapons, Gen, Precious Peter Parker, literally just 1k of shenanigans, natasha romanov's quest for pockets, no beta we die like men, there are many characters and i'm not going to list them all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxghtwoodlxve/pseuds/lxghtwoodlxve
Summary: Peter thinks he needs a new weapon.He asks around for advice.
Relationships: Luke Cage & Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock & Danny Rand, Matt Murdock & Elektra Natchios, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ward Meachum & Danny Rand
Comments: 24
Kudos: 289





	Blue Satin Sashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deniigiq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/gifts).
  * Inspired by [wide worlds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135561) by [deniigiq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq). 



> hello darling readers, i hope you’re well.  
> i’m trying something new!! this is new. i don’t think i’ve done something like this before. this was very fun to write.  
> deniigiq is amazing and this is heavily inspired by three of their fics: ‘flora by many names’, ‘wide worlds’, and ‘blue suede’. i simply adore the idea of itsy bitsy spidey going around asking his fellow supers for advice. bless.  
> i knew the title was going to be a My Favourite Things lyric, but t’was very hard for me not to call this ‘sticking my dick in rotisserie chicken’. i settled on this instead. i hope y'all like it.  
> as always, please stay safe.  
> -nat <3

It only takes Peter a month of fighting Doc Ock for him to figure out that his webs might possibly not be enough. They’re all well and good for getting around the city, and wrapping people up without hurting them, but when you’re fighting that many tentacles you need something, well, _more._

He tells Wade this, and that’s his first mistake.

“I can get you a sword,” Wade says, to Foggy’s horror and Matt’s despair. Peter’s pretty sure Wade’s fucking with them, but you can never be too sure. 

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Knives aren’t fun, though,” Matt groans. 

He’s been thoroughly wrapped in another blanket burrito - a gunshot wound this time, but only in the shoulder - and has been told very explicitly by Miss Claire to _not fucking move, so help me God._

Naturally, he’s disobeying. 

“I’m talking about _swords,_ Red. And knives are very fun,” Wade counters, attempting to stop Matt's violent removal of blanket. “You can throw them and everything.”

“Why would I throw a knife? If I wanted to use projectiles, I’d learn to shoot.”

Foggy pretends not to be extremely alarmed by this prospect. “Matty, no. You’re not learning to shoot.”

“Why not? Stick could shoot a crossbow. Is this a blind thing?”

“It’s not a blind thing,” Foggy soothes, stroking Matt’s hair. “I just don’t think the world’s ready for that concept yet.”

Matt pretends he’s not leaning into the hair stroking like a cat.

“Knives are better than guns.” Wade declares, and hands Peter a small switchblade from absolutely nowhere. 

“Why?”

“Knives don’t run out of bullets, Petey-Pie.” Wade taps Peter’s nose on every other word. 

“But you can run out of knives, Wade-Bo,” Peter replies, and delicately puts the switchblade on Matt’s kitchen table.

“He’s got a point,” Matt admits from his blanket prison. “Fists are better.”

Peter frowns. “Wait, why are fists better?”

Rookie mistake, Parker. 

“You don’t lose your fists unless you cut them off,” Matt says, like it’s obvious. Foggy pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “But even then you can _literally_ throw hands!”

Foggy groans. “You’re not funny. You’ve never been funny.”

Peter’s not sure whether he wants to know the answer, but he asks the question anyway. 

“Why would I cut my hands off?”

“My sensei did, but only one of them. Not sure why though.” Matt shrugs, and blinks rapidly for a moment. The painkillers must be hitting him. “Elbows are pretty good too.”

Okay, sure, pal, whatever you say.

“No, wait, I know something even better,” Matt is undeterred by their growing horror. “Teeth. No-one ever sees them coming.”

Peter squints at him. “Why would I throw teeth at people?”

Matt gasps. “Oh, I know! I know someone who can help. She’s good at weapons. Let me call her.”

\--

Matt’s ex and sort-of-sister Elektra is terrifying.

She’s terrifying in that she so clearly doesn’t need weapons, but hoards them anyway. 

She takes him around her display stands, showing off her very old and very expensive knife collection as Matt, now fully sober, hovers anxiously in the background.

“But do you have a favorite, though?” Peter asks. 

She grins at him, only a little manic. 

“These. They’re _sai,_ from Okinawa. These side prongs, the _yoku,_ are meant for blocking,” she says, and flips the _sai_ effortlessly. “I use one in each hand, like this.”

Matt avoids getting stabbed by the skin of his teeth, and then spends the next half hour arguing with Elektra over it.

Ten minutes in, they switch to Spanish. Ten minutes after that, they’re in rapid-fire French. 

“...maybe not, but you don’t fucking stab me over it!”

“You stabbed me first!”

_“It was a pencil, Elektra!”_

Yeah, okay, no. New plan. 

\--

“Danny, what’s your favorite weapon?”

Ward Meachum puts his head in his hands, his face the very image of despair.

“I am the Immortal Iron Fist,” Danny begins from his perch on the windowsill.

“We know,” Ward groans into his hands. 

Danny gives Peter a shit-eating grin from behind Ward’s back. 

“You know how we know this, Danny? Do you know how we know this? We know this because you tell us. Every single day.”

Ward turns around to face him, and Danny schools his expression back into his earnest, overly serious, innocent baby bird of a resting face. 

Ward is not phased. “You do _know_ that you tell us this every single day? You know this, right?”

Danny nods sagely. “I am a living weapon. The protector of K'un-Lun--”

“You’re the one that’s gonna need protecting pretty soon,” Ward threatens.

“Try me,” Danny says, and Ward brandishes a very large stapler in Danny’s direction. 

Danny, in a rare moment of intelligence, fucking guns it.

\--

 _I know._ Peter thinks. _Let’s go talk to a real adult._

Sam Wilson, codename Falcon, despite being a real and functioning adult, is unfortunately accompanied by a fossil when Peter eventually finds him.

“You want some pancakes, Pete?” Sam asks, because he’s a real-life saint no matter what Wade thinks. 

Peter declines. He has work to do. He’s looking for a new weapon. 

“Now, son,” Steve says far too gently. “Why are you lookin’ for new weapons?”

Peter doesn’t know how to answer this in a simple way.

“Uh, no reason?”

Sam gives Steve a look. “Lay off, Steven, he’s just curious. What type of thing are you looking for?”

“Don’t know yet. Just researching, asking around, you know.”

“Right. I’ve got the wings and the semi-automatics,” Sam offers, flipping a pancake flawlessly. “Don’t need much else except a med kit.”

Guns aren’t really his style, though?

Steve nods in agreement. “I’ve got the shield. Usually have a knife in my boot, too, just in case. Honestly, Peter, just stick to what you know.”

“Do you think I should get a med kit?” Peter asks, and they both consider this. Natasha appears behind Steve’s left shoulder.

“Can’t hurt, but I’m not sure where you’d put it, little spider,” she says, and scares another decade off Steve’s life. “Your suit’s like mine. Not enough pockets.”

“You can fit a damn rifle in your suit, Nat.”

“Did I fucking stutter?” She says, and steals a pancake. “Not. Enough. Pockets.”

\--

Jessica, when asked, only salutes him with her hip flask.

\--

“Miss Page?”

“I told you, Peter, call me Karen.”

“Okay, Miss Karen,” he says, and only quails a little under her stare. “Mind if I join you?”

She moves aside a large stack of newspaper clippings, and invites him to sit with her. They sort through the clippings in comfortable silence for a long while before Miss Karen speaks up.

“You okay?”

Peter considers this. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

Miss Karen raises her eyebrows as if to say, _go on. I’m listening._

He sighs. “Everyone seems to have this super cool weapon and I’m just the guy that sticks to walls.”

“That’s pretty cool in and of itself, Peter,” Karen assures him, and goes back to organising her piles. 

“What’s your favorite weapon?” He asks, just to see.

Karen hands him a cutting of one of her articles. 

Then she pats her bag, and there’s the metallic clack of a gun hitting a bottle of mace.

Ah, yes. Point taken.

\--

“Common sense is your best weapon,” Miss Claire says, glaring fiercely at Danny's prone form. "It's a shame that some people haven't heard of it."

\--

“Hey, JB.”

“What up, squirt?” JB replies in the thickest Brooklyn accent that human ears have ever heard. 

Peter blue screens. JB lifts his gaze from the pile of empty grenades in front of him.

“Uh. You got a favorite weapon?”

JB smiles like a shark, and pours more pink glitter into the shells.

Peter might be sweating.

“Yeah,” JB replies. “Me.”

\--

“Katie-Kate, I know you’re mad at me, but can we please just talk?”

“Get fucked, Peter.”

“Is this about the tacos?”

“It’s about the tacos.”

“I’m _sorry_ , Kate, c’mon…” 

\--

Mr Cage is six and a half feet of calm logic, muscle, and compassion, and smiles gently at him.

(Jessica’s drinking directly from the bottle. Matt rolls his eyes and sips his finger of whiskey far too politely.)

“I don’t have much need for weapons,” he tells Peter over his plate of bulgogi. “I’m not going to hurt people unless I have to.”

Yeah, Mr Cage, he gets that, but what about when you have to?

(Danny’s still passed out from overusing his chi. Jessica’s giving him an undecipherable look, and Peter finds this incredibly ominous.)

Mr Cage considers this, and then gives him a bashful grin. “Bulletproof skin does most of the work. Failing that, I have fists.”

That’s super helpful, thanks, man.

"Can you pass the ssamjang?" Matt says, and Jessica scoffs.

\--

“Science,” Dr Banner says with smoking eyebrows and green veins.

\--

Results: inconclusive. 

“Mr Stark.”

Mr Stark, predictably, does not answer.

“Mr Stark!”

“Huh?”

“Why are you in an engine cavity?”

Mr Stark considers this, then shrugs. “Seemed easiest.”

Peter nods. That does make sense, but more importantly:

“What do you think about me making a new weapon?”

Mr Stark hums in thought. “What kind?”

“Don’t know yet.”

They’re silent for a long moment, and Peter sets his bag down. He climbs onto the top of the car’s roof and sits down criss-cross-applesauce. 

“Why do you think you need a new weapon, Pete?” Mr Stark says eventually. “You’ve got the webs. They’re enough, right?”

“Yeah, but one day they’re not gonna be enough, Mr Stark. Remember the Vulture? Mysterio? Doc Ock?” 

“That makes sense. I mean, you know you’ve always got us for backup, and your clan of vigilantes, but…” Mr Stark drops a wrench, curses softly, and then sticks his head up. He has a streak of oil across his nose. “Guns and knives and all that, they’re not really your style.”

“I know. I want to find something that is my style.”

“We can workshop it if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Pass me that socket wrench first, willya?”

Yeah.


End file.
